


Beat of My Heart

by Tronnie



Category: The Eagle | The Eagle of the Ninth (2011)
Genre: Cute, Fluff, Language Kink, M/M, Marcus/Esca - Freeform, Slash, ronan adoption fic, so…a bit AU, the eagle of the ninth - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2014-03-28
Packaged: 2018-01-17 08:38:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1381090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tronnie/pseuds/Tronnie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marcus wants to learn something of Esca's language, so Esca teaches him some.  Ronan adoption fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beat of My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Lon Dubh for help with the translations! Now it's in actual Scottish instead of Irish :D I hope it's right now, and there are no more horrifying errors.

"Esca, teach me something in your language."

Esca spared Marcus a second's glance from his crouched position over the fire kindling before returning his attention to it fully, offering him an offhand: "What do you want to say?"

Marcus shrugged, possessed by not much more than boredom at the moment, and so didn't much care. He twirled a stick in his hand. "I don't know. Anything."

"Ask Rònan." Esca didn't even look at him this time, and Marcus glanced over at the boy, whom they'd basically adopted months ago, and who had been living with them contentedly since they'd left his tribe's camp. He was a good lad, and Marcus enjoyed having him around. It was nice to have the extra hands, though finding extra food and space for him on the horses was sometimes frustrating. Marcus found that, for the most part, he didn't give the boy much thought, and this time too, he spared only a half second before turning back to Esca.

"I'm asking _you_."

"Why?"

Marcus huffed and scowled, slightly put off by the question. He hadn't thought much about _why_ he wanted it to be Esca, just knew that he did. Now the realization gave him pause and he furrowed his brow slightly in confusion. " _Because_. It's _you_."

"And? …You're not making much sense, Centurion." And, though for the world Esca remained flawlessly passive and serious, Marcus could hear the tint of laughter around the edges of his speech.

"It's—not the language that interests me, it's that it is your language. And…I want to know…more about you," he finished lamely, looking back down at the stick in his hands and began scraping at the dirt.

Esca paused and, after a moment, looked up at him again. He seemed thoughtful and guarded, but eventually said, "Very well. Say… _mo ghràdhaich_."

"What does that mean?"

Esca looked intensely at him, kindling forgotten in that moment. "It's like… _mo ghaol_."

"That's not very helpful."

"Just say it. You wanted to learn something; I've shown you something."

"But I should know what I'm saying. You know, so I don't make a fool of myself in front of anyone." He glared as Esca snorted, and his look said: _you'd better not make a comment._

Esca's smirk suddenly turned soft, and he dropped all pretenses of banter to look at Marcus directly. "Say it only to me and you'll be fine."

So Marcus did.

Over the next few days Marcus would say it every now and again, stumbling over the strange sounds, because whenever he did, Esca would stop and lock their eyes, and listen to his words as if there was nothing else in the world he could hear at that moment. Most of the times, it would even earn him a small smile afterwards.

For that, Marcus was willing to wrestle that phrase into fluency, and offer it whenever Esca looked at him with a desire to hear it. Soon it became between them a greeting, a conversation starter, a placating remark. He even used it as a phrase of request, replacing "please," as Esca responded so well to it and made him putty in Marcus' hands (or as close to it as he would ever get.)

Eventually, however, curiosity got the better of him—he had to know what these magic words were that made Esca like that. And since the man himself was still playing his little game of secrecy, Marcus decided that he had to ask Rònan.

The boy was settling in, and his Latin was improving, if not necessarily "good".

Marcus went over and sat by him—the boy had a whittling knife in hand as he worked on a wood carving of his own. Rònan looked up happily when Marcus sat down and smiled at him.

"Rònan, let me ask you something," Rònan looked up interestedly, eager as always to please his heroes. It was endearing, yet sometimes tiring. He preferred to get to the point, especially now.

"Tell me, what does _'mo ghràdhaich'_ mean in Latin?"

Rònan's brows shot up in surprise and his mouth worked awhile before he could formulate what he was trying to say. "What… why you do say this?"

Marcus wasn't entirely sure what he'd been expecting, but it wasn't that. The young Briton was floundering and stumbling his Latin more than usual. "Uh, Esca taught me. He, uh, seems to like it when I say it, so…"

Rònan smirked more slyly than Marcus thought any ten-year-old boy ever should. He snorted, "Yes, he like you say it to him, I thinks," he finished with a wise nod, much to Marcus' growing frustration.

"Rònan, just tell me what it is I'm saying. Please. What does it mean?"

"Is like… person…special? Special like…love. One like…treasure. Near."

" _Oh…_ "

Well.

The pieces fit together now, whatever Marcus thought of it (which he wasn't quite sure himself). Pieces to a puzzle he didn't even know he was doing. If ever he had been conflicted of feelings, it was now. The only clear thought in his mind was that he wanted to keep doing whatever it took to make Esca look at him the way he'd been doing these past days.

That thought seemed to consume all others then, and Marcus smiled. He smiled at Esca, who was busy obliviously tending the horses. He thanked Rònan and stood up, making his way across the campsite.

He came over to Esca, stepping up behind him and fancying that the Briton hadn't heard him coming. He put his hand on Esca's shoulder and stepped into his line of vision.

"Let me help with that?"

"It's alright." Esca's attention to his tasks hadn't changed in all the time Marcus had known him.

"Please. I insist." He trapped Esca's smaller hands and waited until he met his gaze. He did his best to imitate the look.

Esca smirked. "You have but to ask of me, Centurion."

"Don't."

"Hmm… Okay. Well, you do have other magic words then." His eyes sparked impishly with anticipation, and Marcus accepted the challenge.

He stepped in, closing the distance between them, and cupped his face, pulling him close. He rested their foreheads together and breathed, " _mo ghràdhaich, mo ghaol._ "

Esca's breath caught and he stared up into Marcus' face. The way he'd said it this time, with the right tone and sincerity; Esca made the connection. "Rònan told you," he said simply.

"He did. Though his translation was a little lacking. Perhaps you could do better."

Esca smiled and looked down for a moment, not meeting his eyes. "You _did_ ask nicely…"

He looked back then, and his gaze, as it locked with Marcus', held _everything_. Marcus saw everything that he was sure Esca had ever kept hidden from anyone. Everything was laid bare, and he knew that Esca had no reservations about it.

"It means, _my beloved_ or… _my love_. _Gu sìorraidh, a buille mo chridhe._ " Esca seemed to slip into his language without noticing.

"And what about that?" Marcus asked quietly.

"Hmm? Oh," Esca looked back at him. " _This_ is what that means."

He grabbed the front of Marcus' tunic and pulled him down, crushing their mouths together.

They separated after awhile, Esca pressing against him and tucking his face into Marcus' neck and mumbling, _"Tha gaol agam ort."_

Esca smiled when he realized he'd done it again, and could almost imagine Marcus' frustration. But he decided he would let his Roman wonder at his new vocabulary for a while and repeat it to him in the quiet of night.

**Author's Note:**

> Gu sìorraidh, a buille mo chridhe –"forever, the beat of my heart."
> 
> Tha gaol agam ort –"I love you."
> 
> mo ghràdhaich –"my beloved"
> 
> mo ghaol–"my love"


End file.
